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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27117607">Midterms</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlothSpaghetti/pseuds/SlothSpaghetti'>SlothSpaghetti</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sleepless In Stark Towers [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Image, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Light Stalking, Midterms, Minor discussion of, Security camera hacking, Sleepiness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, college stress, sleep deprived idiots, this could probably be rated G</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:47:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27117607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlothSpaghetti/pseuds/SlothSpaghetti</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's midterms week at school. Tony watches. Things take a step forward.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tony Stark/OFC, Tony Stark/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sleepless In Stark Towers [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Tony's PoV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>This wasn’t a new level of creep, I’ve hacked plenty of security footage before. Super easy. What was creepy was me watching you work in the studio </span>
  <em>
    <span>all the time</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’d be working in the lab and I’d have the low-quality security feed playing in the background. It was like we were working together again, which had been great. And after the graffiti incident, Peter had asked if I would help keep an eye on you, seeing as we seemed to be close. Then again, the kid had a weird look on his face when he said that, a look that screamed I’m plotting something, possibly to change JARVIS’s pacifier controls again or take over the world. Honestly, it was hard to tell with him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But right now, I was watching my favorite talk show instead of chatting with the rest of the team on our way home from a mission. I lied and told them I’d be sleeping, which did make me feel like only 5% shitty because Clint thought it was funny to make an old man joke at me, before flicking down the faceplate to the suit and pulling up the studio camera. Your midterms started today, which meant you should be studying. It seemed like you were doing that, working through flashcards while you paced the empty studio at two in the morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck calculus,” You threw the cards into the air, before rubbing your eyes. It was hard sometimes to not laugh at your antics, this being a perfect example. Calculus seemed to be your worst subject, the one you struggled with more than anything. “I don’t even know why I try, at this rate, Imma have to be a hooker anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Um, no, Sweetheart. Though </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pretty Woman</span>
  <em>
    <span> was an okay movie, I wouldn’t let you do that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, bitch, one more hour of studying, then we are gonna do some art.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, that is certainly one way to motivate yourself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the next hour, you read from your art history book. Out loud. It wasn’t until you shouted, ‘boom bitch’ and slammed the flappy softback book closed that I realized I had fallen asleep.  My whole body twitched and I ripped my helmet off. Clint snickered, still cleaning and oiling his bow. I ran my ungloved hand through my hair and across the stubble growing over my cheeks. Momentarily, I thought about hopping out of the quinjet. I could probably fly faster than this. I could be in my workshop or in bed like a fucking regular human being. Literally, anything could be more productive than just sitting here pretending I wasn’t being a fucking creep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Romanov, what’s our ETA?” I shouted up to the cockpit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“30 minutes till we start our descent. Why? You got a hot date, Stark?” She peered around her seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps I do,” I smirked at the redhead. By the time we land, there would obviously be no hot date, or anyone waiting for me at home, but it was nice to dream you’d be there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barnes burst into laughter, slapping his knee like fucking old man he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got something to say, man bun?” I turned to the super soldier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, ‘course not. Just thinking about my new favorite stories I started watching the other day. Gotta lot to catch up on,” Bucky did that stupid thing with his face, the one that makes you think he’s innocent, but I knew. I knew what a fucking hellion he was, just like fucking Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steven, control your friend or I will launch him into space,” I threatened, pointing at Barnes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both of you stop it. Don’t make me turn this jet around,” Steve turned around to first to stare at Barnes then at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’d nose dive into the ice first before you turn it around,” Bucky crossed his arm, and I couldn’t control the laugh that exploded from me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it, I’m hiding the remote,” Steve turned around again, ending the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t do that,” The brunet cried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch me, Buck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Watching you struggle with your studying. Whenever I wasn’t in meetings with the Avengers, or Stark Industries, or literally doing anything around other people, I watched the studio. You practically lived in that room. Occasionally there would be other people with you, but after a quick greeting, you’d plug your earbuds back in and get back to work. Other times, you’d speak so animatedly with your professor. He was… okay looking I guess. I definitely didn’t notice how you perked up when he praised your work or tenacity. I definitely wasn’t jealous, because you technically weren’t with me. I did, however, tuck that little bit of knowledge away for later to test out… for science purposes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right now though, you were, what I could only assume, rage drawing a still life of dead flowers, broken phones, and some kind of book with a skeleton hand tucked into it. I watched, fascinated, as you tore another sheet off the board. Something about this wasn’t coming easily to you, and that seemed to make you frustrated, even more so than calculus. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, why am I trying so hard? It's just a vanitas sketch, why does it gotta be so deep? Well, you dumb bitch, it’s because you can’t do anything the easy way,” You massaged your scalp causing some of your hair to fall out of the messy bun you’d thrown it up in a few hours earlier. “Okay, let’s just rearrange some of these bits and adjust the lighting. It needs more drama.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, just sleep on it and you will feel better in the morning,” I begged the screen, staring at the clock it was just after midnight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You had your calculus midterm in the afternoon and hadn’t left the studio since yesterday morning. Your hand blindly reached for the Stark cup on your station, probably filled with some flavored ice coffee beverage that you shouldn’t be drinking so late. The straw was guided into your mouth clumsily, not taking your eyes off the still life set up.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tony, what would you do?” I blinked and shook my head when you said my name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sleep on it,” I stated, making no move to leave the lab, my own work next to me, half completed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t sleep,” You turned to the camera, a frown on your face. “I tried all those stupid tricks the school counselor recommended.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, that was news to me, I hadn’t realized you were seeing a professional about your struggles. Good for you, Sweetheart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing works, I keep having horrible anxiety dreams about my stupid calc test. I haven’t slept as good as I did with you probably since puberty hit,” You laughed sitting down again in front of your easel, back straight as a lance. “But we all know how I reacted to that, like an idiot. It’s not fair to you, me being a creep,” My breath caught in my throat, coffee mug frozen on my lips. Broad, black charcoal strokes began to appear on the paper, “On one hand, I’m like let your freak flag fly, you do you boo. You deserve to be happy. But then I remember you are a person, with your own feelings and problems and wouldn’t want to touch me with a 10ft pole, so I reel it all in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m definitely winning the creep contest here, Honey,” I smirked to myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just can't get you outta my head,” You sighed heavily, working in silence for a few more moments. More broad strokes appear on the paper and you carefully blow away the dust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete said the stupidest thing ever the other day,” I could hear the smile in your voice, but it sounded sad. “Said you had a crush on me, but I know that ain’t true. No one would have feelings for me... but I guess that’s okay, being unlovable. I just gotta get used to it first. Been told it enough, just really need to let it sink in now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes, I really am a dumb bitch. If I’m talking to a security camera, I really need to go to bed,” you huffed a final long sigh before cleaning up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I wanted to rush out of the tower and straight to you. I wanted to prove Peter right and show up Steve and Bucky for making those stupid comments. I wanted to hold you and show you how much I wanted you. I wanted you to give me the chance to love you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“JARVIS, clear my schedule from 2:30 pm.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Your PoV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I cried during the calculus exam. The waterworks started when I got to the second page, having barely been capable of completing the first one. My brain just didn’t work this way, I couldn’t figure out the step to finishing the equations. But I forced myself to complete it because anything was better than nothing and I prayed that the professor would at least give me partial credit for showing my work. My head hung low when I handed over my exam and I speed-walked out of the lecture hall before anyone I knew stopped me. It was bad enough I handed in a tear-stained test. I wasn’t going to let anyone else see my puffy, red eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was surprisingly sunny for mid-October when I stepped outside. It only burned my eyes more. I wrapped my oversized scarf further around my neck and face to beat the blistering wind. Crispy, dead brown and red leaves formed little tornadoes in the wind. Maybe I would finally make the jaunt over to Central Park during the long weekend to look at the changing leaves. It certainly wasn’t autumn in Indiana, a vibrant array of greens, reds, oranges, and yellow, but there was a special beauty to watching the season change here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My nonexistent Spidey senses betrayed me once again. As I watched the leaves twist and twirl outside at the edge of the courtyard next to the hall, lost in my own little world where there were no midterms or math at all, I was jumped. One second I was wading through a memory of leaf piles and hot apple cider, the next I was tumbling into the dry, hard grass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jesus fucking Christ," I screeched, flailing my arms out to beat off the attacker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That never gets old," Peter grinned, rolling off of me and leaping back up to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kid, c'mon, low profile," Tony frowned at him, before offering me his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A blush erupted on my cheeks and neck. I took his hand, mostly trying to push myself off the ground first before he had to actually do anything. Tony's hand was warm and rough, his innocent touch sent a shiver down my spine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When I was back on my feet and dusted off, I assessed my two visitors. Peter was dressed like he'd spent most of his day at his internship, but Tony wore old, oil-stained jeans and a flannel shirt that looked just as work-worn and way too big for him. He also had donned a navy trucker hat. His blue shades gave him away though if you asked me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What are you guys doing here?" I smiled, genuinely happy for a distraction from that awful exam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We are kidnapping you," Peter snatched my backpack from my shoulder before I could even protest, a devious grin on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Technically, we are here for a visit of the college for Peter," Tony explained, crossing his arms over his chest. Large, muscular arms that I hadn't thought about recently in the shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Staaaaaahhhppppppp. Not the distraction I was asking for God.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aka, we are practicing our undercover skills," Peter qualified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you think tackling a civilian won't break cover?" Tony asked, turning fully to Peter with an incredulous look on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I, uh, well, I mean," Peter began to stutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Technically, I was the target, Tony," I stepped closer to Peter, who threw his arm around my shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have acquired the target," he beamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jesus Christ, you two will be the death of me," Tony rubbed his hand over his eyes, skewing his sunglasses briefly. "Do you wanna spend your break at the tower?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please say yes," Peter begged, shaking me for extra measure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More people were filing out of the lecture hall, a few of them doing a double-take to Tony and then me then Peter and finally back to me before just shaking their head like they’d seen a ghost or something. I looked from the brown puppy dogs eyes I was getting to my left, to the hesitant, tired eyes in front of me. This was just asking for trouble.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” I shrugged. “Let’s head to my dorm and I’ll get a change of clothes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony's shoulders sagged slightly, letting out a breath of air and a relaxed smile graced his face. Peter’s energy level skyrocketed, jumping up and shaking me more with excitement. Our little trio walked across campus and the few blocks towards the dorm building I was staying. Even as Peter babbled on about how fun it was going to be, a four day weekend of nothing but goofing around, eating loads of sugar, and binge-watching the entire Star Wars saga, I could sense something was up. I nodded along to what he was saying, but my eyes kept flicking to Tony, watching him assess everything around him. You couldn’t have missed the frown on his face when I opened the door to the dorm building, the single, ancient deadbolt that guard a gaggle of young women from the outside world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I led the procession up two flights of stairs, down a long hallway, and made a right turn to the second last door on the right side. Another old, scratched up deadbolt was unlocked and I jerked open the door enough to peer in. Thank god, my roommates seemed to be out at classes. I pushed the door the rest of the way open and walked in. There was little ceremony, what with such a small room and very few personal items I had brought along. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have bunk beds,” both of them spoke at the same time, varying degrees of disgust and excitement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter yanked back the curtain of my makeshift cave and plopped onto the half-made bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was held prisoner in a cave and I had more space than this, Honey,” Tony seemed genuinely concerned by the small amount of space not occupied by furniture, poking at different things, opening the slim wardrobes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you are trying to help me grab clothes for the weekend, that one’s mine,” I pointed out and that was all the invitation he needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you wear anything that isn’t sweatpants or flannel shirts?” Tony flicked through the few clothes I had brought with me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I had loads of clothes back in Indiana. I didn’t bring them because I couldn’t… justify looking nice or feeling on display, I guess. My style was deeply rooted in feeling comfortable, something I struggled with at the best of times. When packing up enough clothes to move with, I had initially had a small selection of ‘nice’ clothes laid out. Things that I could maybe wear to a job interview or possibly, maybe even, a night out with my roommates or friends I had made.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then Nathan made a comment that I would probably gain at least 15lbs if not more during my first semester, so what was the point? Who was I going to try and look nice for anyway? He knew what I looked like under all the layers, so why try and dress up an old shoe?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those ‘nice’ clothes, the ones that made me feel a bit girly or cute or empowered even, were tucked back away into the closet of my childhood bedroom. Baggie shirts, leggings, sweatpants, and hoodies replaced them. Clothing that I could use to hideaway in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I wear leggin’s and sweatshirts too,” I emptied out my school bag, tossing the books I wouldn’t need at Peter. I tucked my travel art supplies into my backpack before turning back to Tony, waiting for him to either hand me clothes or step away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is just so much variety here, I don’t know how you choose,” he sighed dramatically before shouting. “These are the same shirt!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrong, this one has a massive paint stain on it from an art project over the summer,” I pulled the shirt in question out of his fist and showed him the sleeve splattered in different shades of blue paint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who wears flannel in the summer?” Peter flicked through the calculus book I’d thrown at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flannel is an all year round fabric.” It was soft and I needed that comfort in the summer. “Tony, I only need clothes for four days, what are you doing?” I stared at him with his armload of clothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this not clothes for the homeless? I don’t understand?” He pulled a confused face before he smirked at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four tops, two bottoms,” I pointed at him, before pulling my sleep shirt and bottoms out from underneath my pillow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter made very suggestive and aggressive eye contact with me when he saw them. A sly grin formed on his lips and I gave him my best ‘don’t you dare’ eyebrows. The pajamas were stuffed into the bottom of my bag. Tony handed me the requested number of items, neatly folded. Those were slid into my bag and I shooed him away enough to get socks, underwear, and a fresh bralette. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t forget your swimsuit.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The words came out of Peter’s mouth like it was nothing. And then I remembered the last time we’d actually swam together was when we were 11 and he, Aunt May, and Uncle Ben had come to visit for the 4th of July. We’d spent all day splashing around in one of those blow-up pools in the backyard while the adults did whatever adults do when kids were around. I don’t remember Mom and Aunt May getting in a fight that visit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a long moment of hesitation, I pulled out the one true bit of athletic wear I owned. The one-piece racing suit was black and thick strapped. Rather than being high cut like most swimsuits, it had legs that went to just above my knees, with one of them being a red color block. It revealed a bit more of my back than I would have liked, dipping to just above my butt, but it covered my thighs and supported the girls well enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alrighty, that is everything, let’s go,” I grinned.  </span>
</p>
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